


Footing

by LdotRage



Series: EliHec Week 2019 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Canon Compliant, EliHec week 2019, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Sparring, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-01 09:22:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18333191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LdotRage/pseuds/LdotRage
Summary: EliHec Week Day 2: Sparring.Hector is the strongest of the lordlings, and Eliwood knows that he's a strong contender for the weakest. Twelve years old, and he can barely handle a wooden sword, much less the iron weapons Hector can use. The idea of a fight between them just seems... pathetic to him. They all know what the outcome would be.Hector has different thoughts.(Or: the start of Eliwood and Hector's bi-monthly sparring sessions.)





	Footing

**Author's Note:**

> I am gay and so are they  
> that is all, thank you for your time

Eliwood wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been training by the time Hector arrived, but the sun had long since gone down and it was getting cold.

This hadn’t escaped Eliwood’s notice, mind you―it was hard to ignore the fact that he could barely see two feet in front of him, and his frame had been racked with shivers for some time now. He’d simply chosen to disregard the late hour and continued to practice anyway. Still, when he glanced over his shoulder and saw Hector standing on the sidelines, leaning casually on a straw training dummy, it came as quite the wake-up call.

If Hector was here to check on him, it had to be even later than he’d thought.

Eliwood grit his teeth and bent down to pick up his wooden sword. The callouses on his hands had long since become blisters, which stung fiercely when he wrapped his fingers around the hilt, but he did his best to ignore them. Straightening back up, he tried to get into the stance Marcus had hammered into his head, but his limbs were quivering with exhaustion and the sword slid from his grasp once more.

His face began to burn even before he heard the dull _thud_ of wood hitting dirt. Hector was right there, watching him, and Eliwood could practically hear the thoughts in his best friend’s head. _‘This is the man who’s supposed to be my brother-in-arms? My equal? Twelve years old and he can barely even hold a sword.’_

It was bad enough that his Father had forbidden him from using lances ever since the stupid clerics claimed that he “lacked the constitution for them”. Now he couldn’t even manage a _wooden sword,_ whereas Hector had already progressed to training with actual blunted iron.

_Pathetic._

Stooping over, Eliwood snatched the sword back off of the ground and flew right into his clumsy approximation of the basic practice strikes Marcus had taught him. Vertical slash. Right slash. Left slash. Diagonal-right, diagonal-left, stab―

He tried to move his feet into two different stances at once, kicked himself hard in the ankle, stumbled, dropped his sword, and landed face-first in the dirt.

The impact wasn’t too jarring―as much as he hated to admit it, he was so small that it wasn’t a very long trip to the ground―but it was sudden enough to make his eyes water and his head spin. Nevertheless, he heard the heavy footsteps plod up to his side, and Hector’s shadow fell over him like a physical weight.

_Pathetic._

The film of saltwater over Eliwood’s eyes turned into frustrated tears, and he hastily pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, scrubbing at his face with one sleeve. Hector didn’t cry. Hector never cried, even though he got hurt during training more often (and much more grievously) than Eliwood ever did.

Hector could not see him cry.

Once he’d successfully forced the tears down, Eliwood clambered to his feet. Mercifully, Hector didn’t say anything as he offered Eliwood the sword he’d dropped. It was dark enough that Eliwood couldn’t really discern the expression on his face.

Eliwood swallowed thickly and accepted the sword. “Thanks,” he said, his voice cracking like fine china being slammed against the floor―another thing which Hector was nice enough not to comment on.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Hector stepped away, and Eliwood almost dared to hope that he was just going to leave without witnessing any more of this shameful display. That was just wishful thinking, of course. Hector stopped at the edge of the small training field, grabbed another wooden sword, slightly larger than Eliwood’s, and then stalked back over.

“Spar with me,” Hector demanded, as firm and unyielding as ever.

Eliwood floundered. “You want…?” He trailed off; glanced warily around the clearing. Everyone knew that Hector was the strongest of the Lycian lordlings, and Eliwood was a strong contender for the weakest. Surely Hector didn’t mean to humiliate him even further.

He chewed on his lip. “Hector…”

Hector, being Hector, didn’t wait for any further response.

Even though Eliwood wasn’t prepared for the blow, he saw it coming in enough time to spring away with a startled yelp. The second swing, though, was too fast to evade completely. Frantically, Eliwood whipped up his sword to block Hector’s, and the two wooden blades collided with a loud _thwack_ that ripped Eliwood’s out of his hands and sent him stumbling.

Eliwood landed heavily on his tailbone, and then Hector’s sword was pointing at his chest before he could even comprehend it.

For a few seconds, Eliwood just blinked at the wooden blade, stunned. Then his brain caught up and he immediately burned with indignation, ducking his head to stare fiercely at his crumpled legs.

A moment later, the sword vanished, and Hector bent down to shove his hand right into Eliwood’s face. “Let’s go to bed,” he said simply, no hint of judgment in his tone.

Somehow, that stung all the more.

Pressing his lips firmly together, Eliwood shoved away the mounting anger and begrudgingly accepted Hector’s hand, letting the other boy help him to his feet. _‘I can’t stop now,’_ he wanted to scream; _‘I need to practice. I almost have it. I almost have it. I just need to keep practicing so I can get stronger.’_

But Hector had proven his point. Clearly, this “training session”, if you could even call it that, wasn’t exactly benefitting him. All he was doing now was making a fool of himself.

Even if he kept working himself to the bone like this, he was still going to be weak.

_Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic._

Eliwood allowed Hector to lead him all the way back to his room in the dark, and he didn’t protest when Hector stepped inside as well, rather than returning to his own quarters on the other side of the castle. After that crushing loss, he had no right to argue, and he didn’t really feel like fighting over it, anyway.

At the very least, Hector spared him the humiliation of watching as he licked his wounds―though, by the time Eliwood had slipped his nightclothes over the fresh bandages and turned back to take care of his mess, the rolls of gauze and bottles of disinfectant were already gone.

* * *

The following day, when his entire body felt stiffer and heavier than steel, his little midnight training session seemed even stupider.

Luckily, they didn’t have many lessons that day―just Numbers Class, where Hector fell asleep as always and the other lordlings half-listened to the tutor’s lecturing and half-muttered amongst themselves. Once their allotted two hours of class time were up, the other kids immediately burst into chatter and formed into groups, filing out of the stuffy little room one friend group at a time.

Hector’s cousin Orun sometimes joined him and Eliwood after lessons, but today he and Jaeson were going out into the Ostian marketplace together, so, eventually, Eliwood and Hector were left alone. Hector, of course, was still snoring away, slumped over his desk with his head on his slate, and Eliwood was too sore to get up just yet, so he didn’t bother waking him.

The Ostian springs got hot quickly, though, making them feel more like summers, so Eliwood didn’t let himself laze around for long. “Hector,” he said once his underarms started feeling too damp. He leaned across the desk between them and shook Hector’s shoulder. “Wake up. Class is over.”

It took a few minutes of shifting and grumbling for Hector to open his eyes. Once he had, though, he sprung to his feet almost immediately with characteristic vigor. “Finally,” he said (as if the length of their lessons mattered to him when he would just sleep through them no matter what). Then he grabbed Eliwood by the arm and roughly tugged him onto his feet, too.

“Hector―”

“Come on, let’s go. Before somebody else gets there first.”

Eliwood had no idea what Hector was talking about, but he obediently stumbled along behind the Ostian as he charged through the halls, still gripping Eliwood’s arm to keep him from falling behind. It was only once they ducked through the same side-door they’d come in last night that Eliwood realized where they were going.

Sure enough, Hector dragged him into the small training grounds tucked into one of the courtyards, where two wooden swords were still laying dejectedly in the middle of the clearing. Eliwood frowned. “Hector…”

“Just trust me,” Hector said, and Eliwood pressed his lips into a thin line.

Hector let go of him just long enough to scoop up the swords, then tucked them under his arm and grabbed Eliwood again. “Come on,” he said once more, and Eliwood really had no choice but to follow as Hector ducked back into the castle.

Castle Ostia was too big for Eliwood to have any idea where they were going. Eventually, though, they reached another door that led outside―this one to a large, decorative courtyard filled with flowering hedges and fruit trees that surrounded a beautiful stone fountain.

Bypassing the fountain entirely, Hector ducked behind the bushes, shouldering some low-hanging apple boughs out of the way. “Right back here,” he called over his shoulder, and Eliwood squeezed his eyes shut as they both wriggled through the shrubbery, the thick branches tugging at their clothes and hair.

When they finally emerged from the bushes, though, Eliwood understood why Hector had brought them here. The clearing was perfectly square and boxed in by greenery on all sides, with a high canopy of trees providing shade above them. Despite the thick, thriving plant life all around them, though, the clearing itself had only a carpet of grass underfoot; no weeds, no tree roots, no pebbles.

It made for a rather captivating sight―though Eliwood seriously doubted that Hector liked this place for its beauty.

Once he’d finished surveying their surroundings, Eliwood turned back to Hector, who immediately tossed him one of the wooden swords. Catching it clumsily with both hands, Eliwood corrected his grip almost instinctively, even though his bandaged fingers were thick and clumsy on the hilt.

Hector, as always, didn’t mince words. As soon as Eliwood was holding his sword properly, he took hold of his own sword, fell into his stance, and said, “Spar with me.”

Eliwood exhaled sharply through his nose. “Hector…”

This time, the unprompted attack didn’t catch him off-guard, but that didn’t make it much easier to counter. Once again, Eliwood sprung away from the first blow and clumsily blocked the second, though he didn’t drop his sword this time. It was a close call, though, and the third strike caught him in the side, even as he whacked the flat of his blade against Hector’s shoulder.

Between the two of them, Hector’s blow had far more power behind it, and Eliwood grunted, staggering back. Hector, meanwhile, seemed unfazed, and he mirrored Eliwood’s shoulder-strike; Eliwood barely ducked out of the way in time.

Hector shifted his stance, getting ready to attack from a different angle, and Eliwood abruptly realized that he was wide open. Before he could exploit the opening, though, it was already gone, and the momentary distraction cost him the match as Hector’s sword hit him solidly in the torso, sending him tumbling face-first onto the grass.

At least he didn’t drop his sword this time.

Still, it was embarrassing―he didn’t even have the excuse of being worn-out this time, and the battle had been over so quickly―and Eliwood waited for the flush to recede from his cheeks before rolling onto his back. By then, Hector was already standing over him, one hand outstretched. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “Let’s go again.”

Despite himself, Eliwood felt a twinge of irritation flare up in his chest. How many times did Hector have to humiliate him before he was satisfied? “Hector, I don’t think this is…” _A good idea. A worthwhile use of my time. A worthwhile use of_ your _time._

Before he could finish his sentence, Hector wiggled his fingers impatiently, and Eliwood reached up to take his hand without really thinking about it. Big mistake. Hector immediately jerked him onto his feet, sprung away from him, and fell into his fighting stance again.

This time, he didn’t even bother to wait for Eliwood to grip his sword properly or even regain his bearings; Hector jumped right into action. His opening attack was the same as it had been in the last two fights, but Eliwood didn’t jump out of the way in time, and the blow caught him in the sword arm.

Luckily, that forced Hector to back up a bit before striking again, which gave Eliwood just enough time to arrange his fingers properly on his sword. The second attack, this time, was a lunging stab that Eliwood was able to parry, giving him the chance to get in an attack of his own, though Hector deflected it with ease.

This even-footed exchange of blows didn’t last long, of course. A few haphazard swings later, Eliwood lost hold of his sword, which went pinwheeling out of reach. Then, as if he hadn’t already won, Hector lunged forward and jabbed the tip of his sword into Eliwood’s chest.

“Hector,” Eliwood said, “I don’t―”

“Again.”

Without further warning, Hector lunged, and Eliwood barely managed to jerk out of the way. “Hey, cut it out―!” he hissed, but Hector wasn’t listening, and the blows didn’t falter. With no weapon to block with, Eliwood had to wrap his arms around his head for protection, and Hector’s sword bounced off his forearm with a sharp _thunk._

That was stupid, of course, because it meant he couldn’t see, which meant Hector swept his legs out from beneath him with ease. Eliwood landed on his butt once again, still clutching his head with both arms.

“Again!” Hector barked, and Eliwood rolled out of the way just as Hector’s sword slammed into the ground where he’d been a minute ago.

“Hector―!”

_“Come on!”_

Eliwood was reduced to frantically scurrying back on his arms as Hector slashed wildly, looming over him even more than Marcus seemed to. He was a rabbit scampering away from a coyote’s gaping maw; a frightened child ducking beneath his mother’s skirts; a minnow darting through Hector’s grasping fingers―

_Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic―_

He was furious.

“Damn it, Hector, I _get it_ already!”

Hector’s sword narrowly missed his shoulder, and, in that brief opening, Eliwood launched himself at Hector’s legs. They both hit the ground hard, but Eliwood sprung away immediately, his eyes sweeping across the clearing―

_There!_

He dove for his sword, snatching it up from the ground and scrambling onto his feet. By the time he whirled around, Hector was back upright, too, and they both readied their swords at the same instant.

Their eyes may or may not have met for a moment; neither of them held still long enough to say for sure. Hector leaped forward, opening once again with that same leftward slash, and Eliwood blocked it with a dull wooden _thwack,_ then ducked beneath Hector’s arm and lunged forward. The side of his sword caught Hector across the ribs, and he darted back again before Hector could retaliate, narrowly avoiding a solid blow to the head.

 _‘I get it! I get it!_ **_Shut up,_ ** _I_ **_get_ ** _it!’_

Hector came back quickly, and Eliwood only parried two of the three wild slashes; the third clipped his wrist, and his sword slid from his grasp. Before it could hit the ground, he snatched it back up with his left hand and swerved around Hector’s side, putting just enough space between them that he could clumsily shove his sword back into the proper hand.

_‘I get it, okay?! I’m pathetic! I get it!’_

They both had to whirl around to face one another, and, again, Hector attacked first. A rightward slash―Eliwood leaped backwards―a leftward slash―he parried, their swords ricocheting off one another―and then an opening as Hector moved into a strong forward lunge, his sword pointing directly towards Eliwood’s chest―

Eliwood slid through the opening, moving past Hector’s extended arm, passing him so closely that their shoulders brushed―then turned on his heel and brought his sword down hard across Hector’s back.

 _‘I get it; I’m pathetic; I_ **_know!’_ **

With a loud, surprised grunt, Hector slammed into the ground, his whole body hitting at once with a _thunk_ and his sword flying out of his hand. He skidded across the grass a bit, and Eliwood darted forward, stepping over him so that, when he rolled around, it was to the sight of Eliwood’s sword hovering at his throat.

They stared at each other.

It took a moment for Eliwood to realize what had happened. Almost immediately, the smug victory that had been welling up in his chest vanished. Blinking rapidly, he glanced down at his hand, as if to confirm that he was, in fact, the one holding the sword. Once he’d confirmed as much, his wide, surprised eyes darted back up to Hector’s.

Hector was grinning up at him.

“I _knew_ it!” he shouted, his voice booming across the small clearing, and Eliwood jumped. “I _knew_ you could do it! You see?! You were just psyching yourself out! _Ha!_ I _knew_ it!”

Eliwood floundered. “Wha―Hector, what are you―?”

Still grinning, Hector propped himself up on his elbows, forcing Eliwood to lower his sword lest it actually press against Hector’s throat. “You were just thinking too hard about it, that’s all!” he said, bright and triumphant, despite the fact that he was the one sprawled out in the dirt. “You were getting all worked up! But see―when you aren’t overthinking it, you fight fine!”

“H-Hector―” Wait a second. “―you were trying to make me mad so I’d _stop thinking?”_

Hector beamed. “Exactly!”

Slowly, Eliwood let his sword fall limply to his side. His mind was racing. This whole time, he’d been thinking that Hector was trying to humiliate him―trying to put him in his place so that he would just give up and stop working himself―when it had really been the exact opposite.

Looking back on it now, he suddenly felt very foolish. It had been silly of him to ever believe that Hector would do something so cruel―if anything, Hector had been the one who’d never stopped encouraging him, no matter how hopeless things seemed. How could he have doubted his best friend like that?

His insecurities had gotten the better of him.

(He silently swore that he wouldn’t let it happen again.)

Heaving a long, beleaguered sigh, Eliwood dropped his sword into the dirt and leaned down to offer Hector a hand. “It still wasn’t very nice of you to come at me like that,” he said, trying to suppress a smile. “…But thank you.”

Gratefully taking the offered hand, Hector returned his not-quite-stifled smile with a huge, mischievous grin. Then, rather than standing up, he yanked Eliwood down on top of him, ignoring the other boy’s startled yelp.

“No problem!” he chortled, wrapping an arm around Eliwood’s neck and tucking him against his chest.

_“Hector!”_

Eliwood struggled against his hold for a minute, then gave up and just went limp with an aggrieved groan. “You’re such a jerk,” he grumbled.

Hector just laughed heartily, squeezing him tighter. “You know it!”

A brief, companionable silence fell over them. The foliage around them rustled in the wind, and the dapples of shade cast by the trees overhead shifted across their faces.

“Hey,” Hector said after a while, “we should keep doing this.”

Eliwood shot him an odd look―as best he could with his head trapped against Hector’s chest, at least. “What, sparring?”

“Yeah.”

“…I mean, I’m not gonna be studying in Ostia forever,” Eliwood pointed out. “It’s almost break.”

Hector pouted audibly. “I know, I know. But we should meet up every now and then and spar,” he said. “Y’know, maybe we could meet someplace halfway between Pherae and Ostia to cut down on travel time? Just have a day where we can hang out and train together. It sucks that we only see each other when everybody comes down to Ostia.”

Well, that was something they could both agree on. For best friends, they saw each other rather infrequently―especially in the winter, when they could go a full five months without contact unless there was some special event. And, once they got older and stopped having lessons together, they would _never_ see each other except at brief conferences and such.

Eliwood would be lying if he said the thought didn’t make him feel lonely.

“…I can probably convince my father to let us do something of the sort,” he said at length. “If nothing else, it would be good for our training.”

Hector craned his head back to shoot Eliwood a grin. “Damn straight,” he said. “Now that we know for sure that we’re on equal footing, I’m not gonna let myself fall behind!”

A laugh bubbled up from Eliwood’s chest. “Hector, that’s kind of you, but I don’t know that we’re on ‘equal footing’…”

“Nonsense! You won, didn’t you?”

“After _several_ _losses―”_

“Those don’t count! You were psyching yourself out! Those were just, like, warmup rounds!”

“Hector, that doesn’t even make _sense―”_

“Does too!”

“Does not! Using that logic, my win doesn’t count either!”

“What?! Yes it _does!”_

“Does _not―”_

“Shut up and admit you won fair and square!”

_“Hector, you’re not supposed to argue against yourself―”_

**Author's Note:**

> why is it that all the EliHec shit I ever write involves some kind of hand-holding or meaningful hand-clasping?


End file.
